"Sherlock." Gasp "don't leave me, please."
Shhh, "Its ok Jim." He strokes his hair from his eyes "I'm here, I'm here"
"It's funny." Gasp "I didn't think I would be so scared." He gives a weak chuckle.
Sherlock holds him tighter, cradling his broken, limp body. Shhh. "Everything's going to be fine."
"No, not this time Sherlock, but that's ok." Moriarty grabs onto Sherlock's shirt, staining the fresh white cotton with a dark red.
He could feel Jim's heart, it was racing, beating against Sherlock's own chest. He had no more words of comfort, nor words of ease, only one selfish demand "I don't want you to go. Stay with me." There was a pause "I love you."
Moriarty gave a sigh of happiness, for he too loved Sherlock but no longer had the strength to speak, he simply placed his hand on Sherlock's cheek and smiled, his hand fell and his heart slowed before giving out one last thud. He was dead.
Sherlock's entire body was shaking, he held Jim tighter unable to let go. He looked into the lifeless, dim eyes and then slowly brushed his trembling lips over his ear and whispered "No."
Everything after that seemed surreal, as if he were in a dream, he would wake up soon to find Jim sleeping by his side, peacefully. But that was not the fact, the cold hearted fact was that James Moriarty painfully died in his arms on a cold concrete floor, he would never see him again, never love him again and never be loved like that again.
It was too much to bare.
A few hours later John Watson walked into 221B Baker Street "Sherlock, I just got off the phone with Lestrade, Moriarty's dead, one of his tricks again…?" He walked around but the room was empty, the only sound was his own footsteps and a distant police siren.
"Sherlock?"
A note on the table caught his eye.
It simply said "Goodbye John."
Suddenly the phone rang, it was Lestrade. "Hello?"
"John." His voice was shaky. There was a long pause.
"What is it?" He said.
"I think you better get down here." Lestrade hesitated. "There's… been another body."
"Who?" Said John.
The End.